Cut a rug
by lizzieBdarcy
Summary: When Sherlock stumbles on a new way to quiet his thoughts, Molly is quickly pulled into the middle of it. Thanks to her secret gift for dance, they're both in a quandary. Because on the one hand, its fun to have a ballroom partner on vacation. But when you're pretending to be a lot more than that for a case, what's real and what's left on the dance floor? I OWN NOTHING, RATEDM JIC
1. Chapter 1

**Little Darcy's, I just realized I haven't put any new stories out since last year! (*cackles, buh dum dum pssh!* Yep I made the joke don't you judge me) And I want to load some new work. Hopefully, there are still readers out there interested in Sherlolly!**

She told him later on that the song was from a soundtrack, some trashy romance novel. He didn't understand her blush until he'd looked it up later, poured over the contents, and did a bit of networking.

An exciting read for the mousy Miss Hooper. How illuminating.

He would learn the song's music on his violin in a day. He would play it for hours until Rosie was asleep in her god mother's dancing arms.

Because it was the song that started everything. The first clue.

**He'd been distracted, mind still turning over, running exhausting circles. **Sherlock hadn't had a decent case in over two weeks, and it was beginning to show. He was quick-tempered (more so than usual), sarcasm no longer just biting. His words were becoming cruel; half of his dishes were obliterated in an impromptu shooting session that left Mrs. Hudson fleeing to her sister's for cover.

It was in these times that Molly most often avoided him. She wasn't scared of him exactly, but there was a tendency to cause him bodily harm when he got like this, and neither was in the mood to deal with the after-effects one of her _good_ wallops brought on. The mere memory of one of her slaps was enough to leave him rubbing his cheek. They both knew how this worked.

So really, he shouldn't have been anywhere near her on that fateful day. He ought to have been in the flat, causing small explosions to test chemical compounds or out searching for a spot of something to inject to take the edge off.

Instead, here he was. Striding into the morgue, soaked to the bone from the thunderous rain outside and fuming, mind too loud and skin crawling.

He was a man on a mission, ready to crack open some poor bastard's chest and dig into the wall cavity, barehanded or no. Molly hadn't been by with anything interesting, she _knew _he was itching for something good, and there'd been no sign of the small woman.

He'd been good, hadn't he? He hadn't spent any time with Billy, no signs of Shezza here. He hadn't even gone on a smoking binge in the last 72 hours, 45 minutes and point 32 seconds. All because _she _might come over and scold him for it. Nothing to pollute his "gifts." Oh, he was _livid._ How dare she, how dare they all? Didn't _anyone _have an original thought these days, a decent way to kill someone to pass the time?!

He stomped in, black Belstaff flying around him, collar high on a face flush with what, at the time, he did _not_ know was a fever and droplets clinging to porcelain skin. The late hour didn't bother him; he couldn't sleep when he was in such a state anyway. The music was loud, to be heard over the thunderstorm, and there was a man's bloated body already cut open on the table. The heart was still on the scale; the stomach bag neatly removed and set aside.

And there Molly was, dancing a private ballet in the center of it.

_You're the light. You're the night_

_You're the color of my blood_

_You're the cure. You're the pain_

_you're the only thing I wanna touch_

_Never knew that it could mean so much, so much_

Amid her Adagio, she didn't notice his sudden stop or the way he stared. The series of movements were fluid, dreamy as she sang along, her gloves bloodstained. She plucked delicately at one of her trays, doing a pirouette on demi-pointe, half raised on her toes. Another twirl and she was heading back to the table, singing to her corpse and holding her heart.

_You're the fear. I don't care_

_Cause I've never been so high-_

The sudden quiet was dizzying, his thoughts slowed and trickled. The whole of him was focused on her. On the minute movements of Molly's muscles, on the smooth expanse of her throat when she tossed her head back, on the sway of her slim hips.

_I'll let you set the pace_

_Cause I'm not thinking straight_

_My head's spinning around I can see clear no more_

_What are you waiting for?_

"I don't know," he replied aloud.

"Sherlock!" She gasped and dropped her liver.

He strode over, eyes narrowed, and examining her face coldly. She was different; why did she look different?

"She- Sherlock, I didn't hear you come in. Um, have you been standing there long?" She nearly pushed at her hair in a nervous tick, but he caught hold of her hand, unbothered by the blood.

"When did you learn to do that? You're very clumsy, and it doesn't speak to the nature of one classically trained." He frowned. Her face dropped even further.

"I- I took lessons growing up, my dad thought it would help me make friends." She explained and tried to pull away.

"You dance. I never knew that. But you were so awful at John and Mary's wedding; you don't dance like this. Why wouldn't you dance like this?" he demanded.

Perhaps it was the exercise. Molly's dance was captivating, if only because Sherlock held both a professional and personal interest in the art of ballet. That must be it. He'd gone too long this time without sleep. His mind had fixated on the familiarity of it, and if he could see her move again, he would rest. That had to be it.

"Okay, I think there's a compliment in there somewhere, but that's beside the point. What are you doing here? You don't look well, why are you all wet?" Her timidity was pushed aside in favor of her medical response; his cheek was burning up when she pulled off her gloves and touched it with one cold palm.

"Have you got a fever?" She continued. His eyes were so bright, unhealthy red blushes against a chalky whiteness.

"Do it again." Was Sherlock's reply.

"Do wha-"

"The dance, your dancing Molly keep up!" He gestured impatiently, holding out an arm towards the open portion of the morgue.

"My-" Confused and now watching him with open suspicious, she tried to grab her mini flashlight for a closer look at his pupils. "Sherlock, if you've gone off on a bender-"

"Oh, for god's sake, Molly I'm not high! I would think _you _of all people could tell the difference. I've set a precedent perhaps but to always turn to that as the solution when I make simple requests, honestly." He shook his head in disgust and came around the table, using his towering height to nudge her out from behind it. "Now do it again."

More than a little lost, Molly searched warily for an out.

"The song's ended, I can't." She offered. He sighed heavily, storming over to her computer and let his fingers fly across the board. In a moment, it had begun again.

"Dance." He made a hurry-up motion with his hand, glaring fiercely. There was no getting out of it; for whatever reason, she was his current target, and he needed to see someone move. Maybe that was it.

"Is this for a case?" She asked, suddenly confident she'd hit the nail on the head.

"if it helps to think of that way." He shrugged. And didn't _that_ make things ten times more confusing?

Trying to pretend he wasn't there was no good; she could feel his eyes burning holes into her lab coat. Even as she worked for a pirouette, her nerves got the better of her, and she nearly tipped over. A sway left her yelping as her knuckles hit the corner of the table, and her shin was sure to bruise when she banged it into one of the stools. That was her problem, after all, terrible stage fright.

"No, no, no, no! it's all wrong." He shook his head, shoving his hands through his hair. "You have to do it like before!" The thoughts were swirling again, and it was so hot in here, too hot to open the doors of the mind palace. She gulped at his fury and set her shoulders.

"Sherlock, you're sick. This isn't the time for your temper tantrums or dancing. I'm going to take you upstairs, and we'll get a doctor to help you or call John." She announced, chin high. For a moment, it seemed her little speech had gone unheard. He was still pacing and tearing at his curls.

Then he whirled on her. Backed her into a wall, panting. He swallowed hard.

"_Make me quiet. Make it quiet again," _Sherlock begged lowly. Molly knew that voice, and it brought her back, to another night they'd been alone in her labs. The night he'd asked her to help him die.

_What are you waiting for?_

Slowly, so slowly and too quickly at the same time, she pressed her body into his. His face tucked into her neck, his arms yanked her tight enough that they were breathing together.

_Love me like you do, la la love me like you do_

_Like you do_

_Love me like you do, la la love me like you do_

_Touch me like you do, Ta ta touch me like you do_

She swayed, and he moved with her. Molly danced them around the morgue, letting her hand slip into his, her other hand resting on his shoulder. He twirled her out, and Molly rose, flowing into the pirouette's she'd tried so hard to do minutes earlier. The move came like breathing, keeping her eyes focused and arms bent at the elbow inward. When she went back down, flat-footed and arm reaching out, his hands were at her waist, pulling her flush against him.

_I'll let you set the pace_

_Cause I'm not thinking straight_

_My head's spinning around I can't see clear no more_

She dared to look up at him. He was smiling, so blissfully warm, and finally at ease. She smiled back.

_What are you waiting for?_

And he lifted her, turningbefore placing Molly neatly back on her feet. The pair moved into another twirl. His arms were strong and sure, posture perfect as they turned one more time, and he pulled her to his chest, breath heaving for another reason entirely.

"What did you say this song was called?" Sherlock asked.

"Love me like you do." She whispered back.

"I see. Perhaps the pop trash isn't all bad." he murmured as his knees gave out.

"Sherlock!"

"We must do this again some time." he gasped.

Then he passed out.


	2. Chapter 2: A scolding

**Just a heads up, 40.0 in Celsius is 104 degrees Fahrenheit for all my American readers!**

**Chapter 2: A scolding**

"Oh look, finally, sleeping beauty rises!" John's scathing tone was the first thing to greet Sherlock as he came to several hours later, a line in his hand pumping fluids intravenously and a nasal cannula clipped on his nose to pump oxygen.

"John?" The former army surgeon glared down at him from behind a blue surgeon's mask, hands clad in rubber gloves. It took another moment to get his bearings.

"I leave you for one week-" He began.

"Ten days." Sherlock interrupted. "Though I don't understand the need for a so-called "babymoon" when you've so recently come back from your _actual-"_

"_Ten _days, you're on your own, and somehow, impossibly, here we are." John continued to fume; his ire somewhat muffled through the mask. "Your doctor said you were dangerously dehydrated, your temperature was 40.0, and you've got walking pneumonia. What on earth were you thinking of coming here in the middle of the night like that?" He demanded.

"I was thinking entirely too much, John." He tried for a smirk, and it ended with a coughing fit that left him groaning. "But I see you're in much better form than I. You've put on two- no. Three pounds since I saw you last. Clearly you enjoyed the local cuisines." He snagged John's phone while his best friend sputtered, checking through messages. "See? Nothing else going on but me."

"Because I was _supposed_ to be on vacation! I've put on at _most _a pound-"

"Mary and I think its three." He coughed again and reached for a phone that wasn't there. "Have you got my mobile? I need to check in with Grover and see if anything interesting has turned up in my absence-"

"Oh no, you don't. You're going to have a proper rest if I have to have Mycroft put you on a house arrest." He smiled meanly, while Sherlock gaped at him. "That's right. I've already informed him that her majesty's servants may be needed and that I shall have the physician on call keep him informed if you so much as swipe a pudding."

"And here I thought impending fatherhood was supposed to make one improve upon themselves, at the very least _think _a little more-" he sniped while John shook his head.

"No, no. No, I am not going to do this with you, Sherlock-"

"Boys. Play nice, or I separate you, and everyone's on time out." Wearing the same sort of mask as her husband, Mary came in, kissing Sherlock's forehead. "hello you, what's this about walking pneumonia and terrifying poor Molly Hooper?"

Amid another snarky reply, Sherlock was understandably startled by her question.

"Molly? What's Molly have to do with anything?" he looked between the couple, watched John's disbelief, and Mary's eyes dart back and forth between her husband and their man child.

"You've not told him then?" She asked her mate. The army doctor had the decency to shift in chagrin. "It hadn't exactly come up, and I was just going to get to that-"

"She's the one who brought you here. Heaven knows how she managed to get you on that rolly bed, though I suppose she's probably used to handling dead weight-" Mary teased, not looking the least bit sorry when Sherlock glared at her. "You came to her lab acting erratically and passed out. Gave her a good scare too." Mary folded her arms, meeting his eyes. "She said you were burning up with a fever and so she rolled you up here. Once they'd taken you back, she called us. I'm surprised you don't remember though I guess the fever would explain that."

Sherlock took this in, looked between his two friends, and then just as quickly steepled his fingers. He didn't care for the knowing gleam in Mary's eye and had no intention of letting her press the issue.

"Thank you for this exciting update, but I do believe it's common for patients with my ailment to require rest. You can go now." And with that dismissal, he lay back, fingers pressed to his lips and eyes unseeing.

"Of all the- Sherlock, we're not done here. You can't keep on like this, suppose Molly hadn't-" John began, stopping when Mary placed a hand on his chest.

"Give us a minute?"

"You shouldn't even be here, do you know the kind of germs you might be susceptible to at this stage in your pregnancy-" he protested, still being herded to the door.

"Won't be long. I'll make sure my mask doesn't leave my face." And with that, he was outside with the door shut firmly behind him. Husband gone, Mary turned her attention to the still quiet detective, coming to his bedside and watching him for a long moment.

"He's worried for you. That's all it is, that's all it ever is." She told him, pulling up a chair. Still, he said nothing, and she smiled, shaking her curls.

"There was no hesitation when she called us, you know. Vexation. Lots of cursing your name, some name-calling. Plenty of grumbles. Checking his watch so much, I thought I'd have to take it from him. The train wasn't fast enough, then the tube wasn't, then the cab. he was right to worry, except… for Molly." He twitched at the name, just a barely-there squeeze and the sharp rise and inhale of the chest.

"Molly was with you because you made sure of it. Didn't you? You sought her out." She watched the heart monitor, watched his heart rate pick up for one blip before it eased again. "Just like you did, back then. John told me, of course. He wasn't happy with her either for a long time."

She twisted her ring round her finger, sighing.

"When it counts… sort of just shows up. Doesn't she? John hasn't noticed. I don't think you have either really. Maybe you're not ready to notice. I suppose that's why we get along so well. We're so good at keeping secrets." His eyes slid over, lips tinged in a bruising blue. Lovingly, she reached over and adjusted the oxygen for him, and he inhaled again, gasping deep and wet.

"Even from ourselves. And you could have hit the button instead of pretending to be in your mind palace." She reminded him, making sure her mask was still securely in place. "Git."

"I was not pretending." He grumbled coughing."ANd conceit does not become you."

"Maybe not. But we're not talking about me." Over the blue mask, her gaze was steady and unwavering, even when he turned away. "It's kind of interesting, wouldn't you say Sherlock?" His reply was another rasping cough, and she smoothed his curls, her eyes smiling down at him.

"Think about it, at least." He could feel the warmth of her mouth through the breathable fabric when she kissed his cheek and didn't stop the smile from rising over his own.

"Did you have a good time?" he rumbled.

"Oh, you mean before you, and your sick self so rudely interrupted?" Mary teased. He rolled his eyes.

"It was marvelous." She smiled back. "But I think we've both tried John's patience enough for one day. I'd better get going." She grabbed her still dripping umbrella off the back of a chair and headed for the door.

"Did you behave?" He asked her retreating back. Mary grinned at him over her shoulder.

"Not even a little." Smiling to himself, he watched the door close and tried to focus on taking in a fresh breath.

Mary had proven herself to be astute, which was no surprise since noticing her surroundings was previously an act of survival. But more than once, Mary saw far more than he was comfortable with, and this time was no different.

Molly Hooper was his friend, and what's more, she was trustworthy. She'd saved his life, kept watch over John. In recent years, Molly had gone from mousy and hesitant to standing her ground. She was not above calling him out, and she had a stubborn streak when backed into a Holmes made corner. Mary Watson might have noticed things, but Molly Hooper _saw _him.

Shifting, he shied away from where his thoughts were headed and returned his concentration to steady breathing. It was a decent distraction. If he was busy struggling to breathe, then he didn't have to think about Mary's pointed comments. Unfortunately, the nurse in charge of his care didn't have the same viewpoint. HIs monitor registered low oxygen levels maintained, and in she came, irritatingly cheerful.

"Right Mr. Holmes, time for another steroid then?" All smiles with lipstick in a garish shade of fushcia she checked his clipboard and hurried over to his I.V. line. "You must just be climbing the walls looking for your next case. I've read Dr. Watson's blog and followed all the papers on your work. That mystery you solved to help that young man, Jack or James or something and his girl Alice-" The peroxide blonde continued with her prattling, injecting the line with two different needles.

"Yes, I'm familiar with the story, Dr. Watson tends to exaggerate." he waved her off, ears ringing from the non-stop talking.

"I think it's just remarkable how you can pick up all those clues." Her eyes lit up, as though she'd just had a thought. He wondered how many neurons burnt out coming up with it.

"Do me!"

He coughed though this was more out of shock then anything."Excuse me?"

She beamed. "Do me! Tell me what I had for breakfast- no, that would be too easy. What I had for dinner two nights ago!"

If his chest wasn't so murky and currently infected, he might have been able to sigh more heavily. Sherlock gave it a good try, all the same, enduring a coughing fit for his trouble.

"It's not magic tricks, and I don't just deduce things on command. I am no _dog_ performing for its master-" He began stiffly, but the blasted woman didn't notice, continuing;

"Or can you tell me where I live? Or what car I drive? Here, I'll be still so you can get a better look. What do you get from that?" She asked, pausing her movements.

"That's you're not a real professional?" He offered. She giggled and checked his line.

"Sorry, I was just so excited. Being ill makes me a bit crabby too. You probably can't do it when you're sick." She shrugged, clearly, his being sick abed explained why he wanted nothing more to do with her.

"That's not-"

"Just another minute, won't be two shakes!" She chirped, smiling down at him. "This other one is just something to keep your temperature down and should help you sleep, but I guess you'll be having lots of visitors, being so famous and all." Looking around the room, her voice dropped secretively. "You know, as soon as I found out you were here, I nearly fell to pieces. I'm such a fan, and I just _knew _it was my lucky day-"

"Sherlock?" A soft knock at the door signaled the cavalry, and even the tug of his cannula wasn't enough to stop SHerlock from pulling himself up. "Are you awake?" His savior came in, pushing aside the curtain and revealing precisely the person he'd been trying not to think of.

His pathologist smiled shyly, a styrofoam cup in one hand and a thermos in the other. He caught a whiff of English breakfast, his favorite tea. Sweetened with honey judging from the aroma, just as he preferred it.

_When it counts, she just shows up. Doesn't she? _

His mind palace was going to need some remodeling.


	3. Chapter 3: Tea time

**CHAPTER 3 Tea time**

Just a few years ago, the fierce scowl that was currently darkening Sherlock's face might have sent Molly running for the hills. As it was, she straightened her shoulders and stepped in further to the room, holding up her thermos.

"Brought tea." She smiled, setting her things down. At this point, she wasn't sure who was giving a worse evil eye, Sherlock or the nurse fussing at his side.

"We have machines on this floor deary. You needn't have run to the cafeteria." The woman reminded her, smile sickly sweet and condescending besides.

"Well yeah but-"

"And this weather tends to leave one's hair so wet and limp. Leaves one looking like a drowned rat." Nurse Jackie, according to her nametag, continued. She gave Molly's hair a pointed look and sniffed. "Doesn't it?"

The hand reaching for the styrofoam cup trembled. So it was like that then? Molly was torn, creating problems now could cause issues down the chain later-

"Fortunately, Miss Hooper doesn't appear to suffer from the issue. Though for yourself, I might suggest a better conditioner, a change of hair stylists or remembering to bring the appropriate rainy day attire the next time you're rushing from your lover's bed." Sherlock cut in. "Incidentally, he's still in love with his wife and has no intention of leaving her. I would move on if I were you."

The nurse reddened, whipping round to look at her patient.

"How could you possibly know that you've never even met Harry!"

Sherlock eyed her, and even Molly found herself waiting to hear his assessment.

"First of all, your lipstick is entirely wrong for someone with your complexion, and yet you've applied it to be as eye-catching as possible. You then added a coat of gloss on top of it, rather than leaving the stain matte, knowing it would draw the eye to your mouth." He took a brief moment to cough and then shook his head.

"Now, while the color is wrong for _your _skin tone, it would not be for someone who has the shade of hair you are attempting to reach by lightening your natural color. Generally, a woman will go either with a more eye-catching color such as blue or red if she wants a change, or darker if going through a breakup." Reaching out, he flipped a loose curl off her shoulder and smirked.

"The only time to go lighter is when you either are hoping for highlights or trying to match someone else you've seen. And this leads me to conclude you've done it hoping to please whoever gave you the promise ring you're wearing on your right hand. " He nodded at the rose gold Celtic knot she was currently twisting and coughed again, delicately. "In the brief time since you entered this room, you've moved it between your right and left hand exactly eight times, meaning you are hoping for an engagement ring but are hesitant to show this particular jewelry piece off. And why would you NOT want to, unless no one can know you're seeing this person. Why not? Because they're married."

By now, Nurse Jackie's eyes were full, her left hand protectively covering her right. Glaring and voice breaking, she stared down at him.

"You don't know that. This isn't like your fancy cases, and my Harry loves me! You're wrong as wrong can be!" And she ran from the room. Molly and Sherlock stared at one another. Then he smiled.

"Tea?" He reached for the cup, and she pulled back out of arm's length.

"That was awful. You didn't have to go so far with that. You could have made your point another way." She scolded him, capping the thermos. He blinked at her displeasure, trying to retake his cup.

"She was rude to you." He reminded her. Molly shook her head, even while her heart warmed at his defense.

"So you tell her that her shoes are ugly or press the call button a dozen times." His lips quirked, but she pressed on, determined to make her point. " You don't destroy her psyche or relationship!"

"I didn't tell her anything she doesn't already subconsciously know. And if anyone is ruining her relationship, it's 'her Harry.' He won't leave his wife, and the sooner she recognizes that, the sooner she can find someone else." He smiled again, taking advantage of her distraction to grab the thermos and pour himself another cup.

"I'm serious. You can't treat people like that. We're not all like you Sherlock; people do dumb things for warmth and affection." Molly sighed heavily, taking the cup right out of his hand. "Even when they know it's pointless." She could feel his eyes on her, tucked herself inward in an attempt to hide whatever clues he was gathering off her person. When he still said nothing, she tried for another distraction.

"You said he wouldn't leave his wife, how can you tell?" SHe asked. He barked out another cough, and this time, she didn't hold his warm beverage back.

"Body wash." he croaked out.

"What?"

He took another sip. "Her body wash, it left a rash behind. She kept scratching at her forearms and upper arms, and I could see the small red welts. If she's been working on her hair, she won't choose anything new when it comes to body soaps because she couldn't be sure how it would affect her new look. So that means it was a gift. If her partner truly cared, he would know better than to get a scented wash, because she has sensitive skin. He doesn't care enough to know, and that's why she's trying the hair and makeup, to keep his interest. Her promise ring was Celtic, 78.3 percent of the Irish population currently identify as catholic. Catholicism forbids divorce." He shrugged, holding his cup out for more, and she poured obligingly. "He won't leave his wife. It's the same empty promises that are always made in those situations."

"Okay… is there a reason you know Irish religion statistics?" She asked. He shrugged.

"A case demanded it. I needed to keep informed." He coughed again, this time having to sit up and gasping for air as he panted.

"Oh! Here, let me-"

"No, I can-" He coughed again, and she was at his bedside in an instant, arms pulling him up into a sitting position.

"Let me get the nurse-"

"She's an idiot. I'd rather suffer." He sucked in one greedy breath after another, shivering when her cold hand cupped his cheek.

"Then, at least let me help you." She adjusted the cannula, tucking him back in, and checked his chart. "You were just given a cough suppressant and a fever reducer so those should be taking effect soon enough. Drink your tea." In full medical mode, she didn't notice how he watched her, or that her hand was still stroking his cheek and hair comfortingly.

"I'm sorry you're ill, it's miserable being sick." She apologized. He huffed in return.

"Simply my body failing to perform the way it ought to. John will no doubt see this as an opportunity to scold and lecture me on the finer points of proper body care and health." He griped, holding out his cup for more. Molly poured obligingly.

"What, you've never 'failed to perform'? Bodily speaking?" She grinned cheekily, triumphant when his lips pursed, but his eyes twinkled.

"Don't make jokes Molly. You're no good at them." He insisted, but she smiled at her steaming cup all the same. She nearly choked when he continued, "And let the record show that no, I have not. I give equal amounts of research and due consideration to every topic."

His smirk was very Sherlock, but this banter was not. So often, he allowed for a battle of wits only against criminal masterminds, and Molly was beginning to enjoy herself.

"Hands-on learning, then? Or perhaps a seminar?" She asked innocently, blowing across the cup's top. To her immense surprise, he raised his eyes to the ceiling and seemed to consider the question.

"University. I've always been an apt pupil. And I find I'm a very visual learner."

Didn't _that_ give her all kinds of ideas? Meeting a young Sherlock in Uni, exactly how much "on the job training" had he had? Maybe that was where he learned to dance.

"I guess everyone tries to spread their wings a little at university." she managed and then backed into safer territory. "Goodness, look at the time. I should get going, so you can-"

"Kindly keep your encouragements to rest to yourself, I've had enough of that to last me until my next illness," he growled, reaching for his phone. Molly was transfixed briefly by his arms, and the memory of the last time she'd seen them. They'd been wrapped around her, wonderfully warm and so strong.

"It's only cause everyone cares." She smiled, nervous, and hoping her cheeks weren't pink. "We all want you to get better."

"Human sentiment is only slightly more useful than good wishes, and still, I find it lacking." He drew in a long breath, noting her frown. The hand going for his phone paused, and she wished it hadn't because now she was feeling his fingers splayed across her back and his lips on her skin...

"Sentiment is what _makes _us human. Everyone cares about something." She set aside her cup, looking at him in earnest now. "Their job or their pet. Friends and family. Like John and Mary care about the baby or you. The way you love mysteries-"

"Yourself and dancing," he suggested, and she froze. She had assumed he didn't remember what happened; he made no mention of it and had been feverish besides. After all, she'd heard of people doing crazy things when they were that sick, hallucinating, or passing out, shucking all their clothes. But if he _did _remember...

"Sherlock-"

"Thank you for the beverage, though next time do try and remember to add more cream if you're making a proper milk tea. I'm sure you've got bodies to be getting back to, close the door on your way out, won't you?" He was already pressing on, grabbing his mobile and fingers flying over the keys. As though she'd already gone. Leaving no room for questions and no chance for answers.

Probably, it was better this way. At least that's what she tried to tell herself as she left, closing the curtain gently behind her. One dance did not a crush make. She was well and truly over Sherlock, and that odd night had been a one-off. Heading down the hallway, she sipped from her cup again, grumbling when she realized two equally irritating things:

She was utterly full of it.

And the tea _did _need more milk


	4. Chapter 4: The beach scheme

**CHAPTER 4: The beach scheme**

"I'm home!"

"Kitchen!"

John shook out his umbrella, hung his coat, and followed the sound of his wife's voice. He found her in the kitchen, serving up plates at the island and inhaled appreciatively.

"You smell incredible." He commented to the baking dish and then grinned at his wife. "And, of course, you're not too bad yourself, Mrs. Watson."

"Oh, be still my heart." She commented wryly, smiling back when he gave her a very sound kiss followed by a smooch to the cheek. "Oooh, two in one go?"

"One from me," he clarified, stealing a still warm roll, "One from Sherlock. He sends his love."

Mary shook her head, taking the bitten roll from him and putting it on an already served plate.

"It's almost like he _wants _you to find out about our torrid love affair." She teased giggling. "I'm going to have to tell him to cool it, aren't I?" John kissed her again.

"That's because he's an overconfident bastard."He peeked into the basket, humming in delight.

"Are these strawberry scones?"

"Mmhm and apple tarts. Courtesy of Mrs. Hudson." Mary confirmed, putting them away. "But I'm supposed to tell you no filling upon them. She made this Shepherd's pie especially for you." She chuckled again, passing over her husband's plate. "She's still very proud that at least _one _of her boys grew up and is giving her grandchildren."

"And is much saner than the other?" he suggested, heading for his favorite spot in front of the telly. Mary trailed behind, holding her meal.

"Only slightly dear, slightly." A quick stop to the loo for Mary, a run for the butter for John and two sparkling juices for them both later, the couple was settled in comfortably.

"How is he?" Mary asked around a forkful. "You've looked in on him every few days now, haven't you?"

"Yeah, course. He's good, Sherlock's fairly good. The bacteria from the infection has cleared up, his temperature is steady…" he slathered a roll with butter.

"But..?" Mary prodded. He shook his head and took a bite.

"Nothing. It's nothing." He reached for the remote, and she nudged it closer to her side.

"John." she scolded gently. Her husband sighed and set his plate on the coffee table.

"I'm worried about him." He admitted.

"I thought you said he was good?"

"He _is,_ and that's really where the problem lies. He's _alright, _but he's not _great._ He had a severe case of Pneumonia such a short while ago, and were it anyone else I'd have made sure they were only just now coming home." He shook his head while Mary rubbed his knuckles. "You think he was released too soon." She finished for him.

"Yes, I do." He sighed again. "Though that's not quite right either. A regular person would be released from the hospital, go home and take it easy. Cut back on work, sleep when they can, and remember to take cough suppressants. His cough is still there, and he tires easily. But Sherlock won't ever admit that to himself, and he won't rest until he's sedated or his body gives out from exhaustion. He's a prime candidate for relapse, and I'm concerned it'll happen in the middle of one of his foot races after a jewel thief or a widow maker." Mary nodded while he took up his plate again, chewing a spoonful thoughtfully.

"There must be something...couldn't Mycroft make him go back?"

John snorted.

"He's already given his brother's tails the run around three times, and that's just been this week. But if I try and curtail the cases, he'll become bored, and that's another monster entirely."

"Mmm." Together they grimaced in memory.

"Oh, speaking of Sherlock-" He reached down and rummaged down in his bag, pulling out a tall mason jar of something viscous looking, deep green. "Sent this along with me for you and the baby."

Eyeing the jar with obvious trepidation, she took the offering and gave it a good shake. Something leafy looking floated to the top, pressed itself against the glass. "What is it this time?"

"Seaweed soup. It's supposed to help with all sorts of nutrients and iodine; he gave me an entire spiel on the properties in different types as well as the custom of seaweed farmers." He smiled and shrugged, taking another bite of his food. "You've got to admit; he's done his homework. And soup might not be a bad idea. With the weather, we've been having."

"What's a little rain to a Londoner?" Mary teased, both of them chuckling at an answering rumble of thunder. "Do I really have to eat this?"

"You do. You know I did a quick internet search, asked around a bit. He wasn't wrong; you and the baby could benefit from some extra vitamins. But you're only supposed to have a small serving each day since you can have too much of a good thing. Too much oxidizing or iron or something to do with the thyroid?"

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that…" She went to put the jar in the kitchen, and when she returned, John was looking out the window again.

"He'll be okay, you know. He always is, and if he isn't, we're here to help pick up the pieces, yeah?" John nodded, but he was still looking outside.

"All this rain, it's too wet for him to go out and play." He muttered.

"Well, darling, boys will be boys. You'll have to let him get a little muddy." Mary smiled and gave him a peck. "Though I'm right there with him, this rain is driving me up the wall. It feels like ages since we were able to go out."

"I know it's not good for you. The air quality here is downright filthy right now- That's it!"

Mary paused in her supping and smiled at her husband's excitement. She didn't have the slightest idea what he was on about, but she was willing to go along for the time being.

"Share with the class John."

"The seaside, we can go to the seaside." He grinned and gave her a sound kiss.

"As lovely as the idea sounds, you do have to _work_ at some point love." Mary began, but John had an answer for that too.

"I've been asked to cover for a doctor down there for a few weeks, I told the clinic I would let them know by Friday. I know we haven't been home long, but would you mind?"

"Hmm, putting my toes in the sand and lying out in the sun by the sea for a month?" She tapped a finger on her lips. "I don't know Mr. Watson it's quite the imposition you're putting on me here-"

"You are a _brat Mrs. _Watson, and I mean that sincerely." Mary giggled, not looking even slightly sorry and put her feet in his lap, wiggling her toes in a not so subtle hint for a foot rub.

"Very spoiled, too, isn't it terrible? Now, what's the catch?" She shook a foot at him lightly, and he obliged, rubbing the arch with care.

"We bring Sherlock along. I can tell him I want him around to keep an eye on things and assist you-"

"_Assist _me-"

"_And-_" he continued before her irritation grew, "Suggest to him a study on the sea life there. Perhaps a new alge or something. That should keep him busy, but not out of breath and over the top."

"Molly mentioned to me he'd been grousing for a new experiment-" She paused, eyes lighting anew with an idea.

"Say, why don't we invite her?" She asked abruptly.

"Who?"

"Molly Hooper. She was looking rather worn down herself, last time I saw her." She shrugged, sighing happily as John continued her massage. "We could have her along as a thank you for helping Sherlock and running me to those last few doctor's appointments when you had to work." He still didn't look wholly convinced, but Mary's scheme was beginning to take shape, and she could already see several possible outcomes that would work in her friend's favor.

"Besides," She added, playing her trump card. "If the algae doesn't keep him busy, perhaps Molly will. They've started getting along so well recently; she can keep an eye on _him _ while he helps look after _us_." Mary reminded him, knowing full well that her husband never said no to something that helped his best friend. It was just a bonus, and it helped her too, she mused. Her boys joined at the hip, weren't they?

"That's brilliant." he gave her a smooch and rose, taking the plates to the kitchen. "I'm just going to tidy up, and then I'll call everyone. This is going to be lovely, you'll see. Back in a flash."

"We'll be here!" She called back, rubbing her baby bump in satisfaction.

Lovely indeed.


	5. Chapter 5: Bon Voyage

**CHAPTER FIVE: Bon Voyage**

"Remind me why I'm carrying your bags? There are people for that. There's _John_ for that." Sherlock complained, hefting suitcases out to the car. Mary shrugged and sipped from her thermos.

"Because John is on the phone and I'm already carrying our smallest passenger. Or should I try lifting a couple of suitcases?" Mary answered, reaching for the most substantial looking bag. Precisely as she expected, Sherlock's hand shot out and snatched it out of her reach.

"I think not. Honestly, Mary, you've been carrying your offspring for how many months now? You ought to know better. A woman in your condition has restrictions for a _reason._" He scolded. She shrugged with an innocent smile, stepping aside to let him finish loading up the boot.

"Who's he talking to anyway? We have a schedule to maintain." He groused, shoving another bag in.

"And when have you ever been on time, Mr. Holmes?" She teased, tapping the bag's top lightly. He scowled but turned and adjusted it to her satisfaction.

"Your wedding for one. Which I still have not gotten a thank you for." Sherlock reminded her.

Mary's reply was a coy smile and another sip. "That goes without saying, doesn't it?"

He huffed and kissed her cheek, letting the baritone of his voice drop even further when he moved to her ear. "You're a brat, and I don't like you." Mary laughed, grinning as John came out, shaking his head.

"I leave for five minutes, do you two think you could behave at least a little bit?"

"Not even remotely," Sherlock replied proudly, winking at Mary. His partner in crime smiled back and went to give her husband a peck.

"What he said. Are we just about set? Molly's still on her way, isn't she?" She asked, offering the hot beverage. He accepted it, gulping while Sherlock was now frowning in open confusion.

"Molly? Are we waiting for Molly? Why are we waiting for Molly?" He looked between the couple, John scanning the road while Mary shrugged, all innocence. "John, you mentioned nothing about this-"

"Pretty sure I did, mate." He brightened as a cab came into view. "Good, she's here. The driver got all turned around." He and Mary waved as they approached, and Sherlock could make out Molly in the back, waving back happily.

"John!" The detective growled behind him. The former doctor continued to wave and paid him no mind, moving to open the door as the cab pulled into their driveway. Molly scampered out, hugging John hello and beaming from ear to ear. "Sorry I'm late, but I'm ready! This trip is going to be fantastic, thanks for having me."

"Please, it's our pleasure," Mary assured her, throwing a smile in Sherlock's direction. "Right, Sherlock?"

His reply was to offer her a glare that left hardened criminals quaking and stomp back into the house. John rolled his eyes. "Back in a tic." He gave Molly a smile of reassurance and followed after his best friend.

"I'm going back to Baker Street."

"No, you're not. You already said you would go, and everyone is waiting-" John began, jumping back when Sherlock whirled on him.

"An everyone I formerly believed to be a party of three John. I've no intention of being trapped in a sea shack with-"

"Sherlock, Molly's our _friend._ We invited her along as a thank you, and I'm not going to have you being a prat and ruining it. You _are_ capable of cohabitation, aren't you?" John reminded him, intentionally barring the door with his body and arms folded.

"With animals, yes, you were proof enough of that!" Sherlock hissed. The doctor rolled his eyes so far back into his head; he might have seen the inside of his skull.

"And here we are resorting to insults. Sherlock, we all could use time just to be don't you think?"

Sherlock shook his head, already grabbing the one bag of his that remained, John's breakfast sandwich and Mary's good scarf. "I am content with existing in Baker Street."

"Why are you so against this?!" John reached for his sandwich, huffing when his friend's stupidly long arms held it just out of reach. "It'll be good for you. In fact, as a member of the medical profession, I'm telling you it-"

"My _health_ is not of your concern John-" His retort was destroyed by a fearsome cough, one of the lingering effects of his recent illness. He clutched at his chest, wheezing and doing his best to hold back while John would have none of it. The doctor pushed him into a chair, kneeling in front of him and forcing him to straighten up.

"No, no, don't curl in. Your lungs need to be able to expand, nice and easy. Give me a deep breath. There it is-" The detective gasped, but his coughing fit slowed, and John rubbed circles along his back, irritated as he was. "Slow breaths, slow-"

"I'm- I'm fine," Sherlock panted. John met his gaze, eyes hard, and mouth set grimly.

"Are you? This -" He gestured between them and tapped on the detective's chest. "This is fine? You refusing to be near Molly and being like this, that's fine?"

"John-"

"What aren't you telling me?" He rose, and the two men stared at one another. "There's always something. What are you hiding?" Sherlock licked his lips nervously, reaching up as though to reassure him, but the man pulled back.

"You promised me. No more secrets. And right now, it seems to me like you're breaking that promise." He shook his head and turned towards the door. "I hope you've got a good reason."

"John!" Hoarse and still catching his breath, Sherlock shot out of the chair, grabbing at his sleeve.

"It's not- there's no secret. There's an enigma I'm attempting to solve; I don't have enough clues for an answer yet." His eyes flicked to the window unbidden, to where Molly and Mary were chatting. John frowned, but didn't leave.

"A case then?"

Sherlock shrugged. "A matter of personal consideration. I was unprepared for a run-in with the source. But there are no more secrets and no more lies." He promised. John studied him for a long moment and then clapped him on the back.

"No more." He agreed and smiled. "Come on then. We've got a holiday to get to!"

Molly had done a decent enough job pretending to be occupied with her road trip goodies. She'd packed a bag full of puzzles like crosswords and sudoku, snacks, music, and enough magazine quizzes to study for a Ph.D. in People. She and her beautiful hosts had made cheerful conversation about the things they were looking forward to. Sunshine, the salty breeze and yummy clam bakes. Sherlock, of course, had not participated in their talk, but there were no rude remarks either. It was a two-hour drive to the seaside, and the first thirty minutes of it had were spent in peace.

It was towards the end of the first hour that things became odd.

Mary had dozed off, John was listening to an audiobook, and so Molly was doing her best to keep busy. She'd cracked open her book of visual puzzles and was miffed to discover she couldn't find the ladybug-

"Left side, inch down in the teacup." Sherlock's directions rumbled beside her. Molly's head snapped up, nearly leaving her with a crick in her neck.

"What?"

"The ladybug. You were mumbling to yourself. It's on the left side, one inch down sitting in the teacup." He repeated, then scoffed. "With a ridiculous face that can't possibly be anatomically correct. In what way does changing the realism affect the outcome of a hidden object puzzle?"

"It's cute. People like cute things." Molly offered, defending the happy little drawing.

"I am aware that dopamine levels rise upon seeing something deemed "cute," but the fact remains that the idea of what is cute and what isn't is an objective one." Sherlock glared at the puzzle, as though he found it offensive. "You're entertained by this? Really?"

"Yes, I am." Hunching in defensively, she pressed the book against the door and turned her shoulder to him. "I don't see things like you, including this puzzle. It takes time to find the pictures, that's supposed to be the fun of it. You don't have to spoil it because you're bored."

"Spo- what- but it's so easy! A child could at least half of them with their eyes three quarters closed." He wasn't helping his case, but then, Sherlock never did know when to quit.

"You truly don't see it?" Now his brow was furrowed for an entirely different reason. Grumbling, Molly tried to move on to find the slice of pie. She didn't bother with a reply. Perhaps he would grow bored and-

"The spanner is the third picket in the fence, and the torch is a tree branch-"

"Sherlock!" Properly annoyed now, she looked up, expecting a smug smirk and instead found his head tilted and lips pursed. "I want to find them myself. Alright?"

When he turned back to the window, she took that as a sign of agreement. And really, it wasn't _so_ hard, not if she focused.

And kept focusing.

So long as Molly continued focusing, she'd probably stop caring how long it was taking to find that blasted worm. Nope, she didn't care one bit. Not even a little. It was another ten minutes of struggle before she finally pushed the book across the seat into Sherlock's thigh.

"Show me how you did it." She asked. His head was leaning back against the headrest, eyes closed and breathing steady. Looking for all the world like he'd slipped into a peaceful mid-day snooze. Or he would if his lips weren't curving up into a smirk.

"Don't be horrid; just show me." She insisted, pushing at his shoulder. Sherlock's eyes never opened, but his hand did shove the book back.

"Widen your scope." He muttered. "You select one thing, and you look so closely for that object you leave no room for anything else."

"I don't understand." Molly picked up the puzzle, staring hard at it. _Think like Sherlock, have to think like Sherlock._ John could do it sometimes, with real cases. Why couldn't she?

"Think of it like a crime scene or one of your bodies. What happens if you get tunnel vision?" He asked fingers folded neatly in his lap. The sun glinted on his face; she wondered if it bothered him, and that's why he closed his eyes while he pretended to be in his mind palace.

"You miss clues!" She nodded, studying the page with new determination.

"So then. Clear your mind. Expect nothing. Your goal is to find ALL the items, not just one. Look at your list again with that in mind. Then, when you know the items that need to be found, you can circle them as they come. Take a glance at the picture and tell me what you see."

Following his instructions, Molly looked over the list. About eleven items were remaining. Then she took a peek at the picture. And found two right off the bat!

"It's working!" She circled them triumphantly. She squeezed his sleeve in excitement, going back to her puzzle. "Thanks, Sherlock!"

He didn't respond, and so Molly assumed he was going back into his mind palace. But in her assumption, she missed how his smile softened, just for a moment.


	6. Chapter 6: Home sweet home?

**Sorry for the late update, had an allergic reaction and then a bad headache from the meds I had to take.**

**The next one will be longer though, promise!**

**CHAPTER 6**

"Should just be down this road here- there we are!" John turned right, parking in the drive. The thatched building loomed over them, it's roof a weathered gray green from the sea air. Portions of it's cream stone front hung thick with ivy, the green foliage going so far as to drape itself over the top of the door. Tall windows gleamed with droplets still drying from the rain that had been coming towards them for a portion of the trip.

In the distance, the roar of the waves called to them while seagulls flew overhead squawking at one another. Molly could see the edge of the coastline, cliffs beckoning with their rocky crags. Brine tickled her nose and she thought she could taste salt when she licked her lips.

She was the first out of the car, just ahead of John and Sherlock who both were hasty to help Mary out of the front seat. The pregnant woman rose with a hand on her belly and a new determination in her waddle towards the door.

"John, darling the keys please, the keys!" While the doctor did as told, Molly was ready to start exploring her new home for the next couple of weeks.

"It's lovely, I didn't realize the place would be so big! Are we really staying here?" She asked.

"I'm staying in whatever room is closest to the loo." Mary announced, hurrying across the threshold when the lock finally turned.

Molly watched her friend dart inside, giggling and moving to the boot of the car.

"Don't worry about your bags Molls, Sherlock will give you a hand!" John smiled, following Mary inside.

"Why would I-" As though he anticipated his friend's protests, John gave a firm head shake and a pointed stare. Sherlock blinked and turned slowly back towards the vehicle.

"Ah. Right." Easily shouldering his bags as well as Molly's, Sherlock nudged past her and headed for the door.

"Oh no, that's okay you don't- here let me get the door-" She hurried to the entrance and held it open as he moved past, fighting down the feelings of awkwardness. They fell to the wayside though when she was able to see the cosy inside of their holiday home. A large living room with a bricked fireplace as it's focal point greeted them. The large couch looked inviting, exactly right for sinking into after long days of exploring. Hand woven rugs were beside the door for shoes and under the coffee table in a mustard yellow, a nice contrast to the navy furniture. She sat to take off her boots on the little wooden bench for that exact purpose, looking up when she realized Sherlock was still holding her things.

"Oh! Sorry. Um, did John say-" Molly was interrupted by the appearance of the man himself, who smiled warmly

"Hey, if you don't mind I'd rather have Mary here on the floor level so she doesn't have to go up and down the stairs." He murmured. "Just safer that way."

"I assume Mary has no such qualms." Sherlock replied, eyes twinkling. John ignored him and kept his focus on the pathologist.

"So if it's alright-"

"Of course! Just tell me where you want me, I could go wherever." She smiled back , also ignoring Sherlock who was staring hard at her.

"Great. There's two rooms on the second floor with the bath in the middle. Sorry but you'll have to share the floor with Sherlock. Though i'm told there's a comfortable shed out back I could put him in if he gets out of line-" They laughed while Sherlock scowled and all but stomped up the stairs.

"I should make sure he doesn't go through my bags, I promised during the ride he could study the rate of a sock's disintegration using seawater." Molly explained, hurrying to sighed, disturbed by his lack of surprise. "He mentioned there were some experiments he wanted to run on the thread as well." She continued.

"Course he did." He shook his head. "Mary will have a lie down and I think I'll make sure we're set for the evening at least. We'll have supper out tonight, if you'd like to join us. Half past six, could you let Sherlock know?" He called after her.

"Thanks, see you then!"

Jogging up the stairs, Molly nearly collided with the solid back of her new housemate. Instinct had her wrapping her arms around him, trying to catch hold of something to steady herself. With her fists full of his suit jacket and face hot, she froze when Sherlock tensed beneath her.

"Molly-" His voice was thick and she half expected him to throw down her things right there in the hallway.

"Sorry! Sorry." She was always apologizing, and she hated it but what could she do? Sherlock had never been one for touch, though Mary Watson had no problem encroaching on his space. And of course Mrs. Hudson too sometimes held him and then there was that lecherous lavendar bit-

"Have I broken you?" Now Sherlock sounded genuinely confused, which was enough to confuse her in turn.

"What?" She peered up at him, his face was still resolutely facing away.

"I'm unable to select a room if you keep holding me, you understand?" He interrupted her mental curses and Molly squeaked, yanking back and nearly toppling down the stairs for her trouble. Just when her heart was in her throat and her arms were windmilling, his hand shot out and caught her by the wrist, yanking her in safe and sound to him. Adrenaline had her pulse ready to beat out of her chest and the scent of black tea, cedarwood and eucalyptus caressed her senses.

"You're fine. I have you." Sherlock's arm locked around her waist, keeping the whole of her length pressed to his. Molly resisted the urge to bury her face in his shirt and instead scooted to the side.

"Okay. I'm- I'm just- thank you. Thanks. I can take my bags, its fine-" She reached for the suitcase and he passed it over easily, leaving his own bags behind as he turned back towards the stairs.

"Wait!" Her loud exclamation stopped the detective and gave her another reason to blush. "Don't you want to choose your room?"

"Don't care." He started to leave her again and Molly had an abrupt feeling of loss. Something was missing, had she made him uncomfortable or upset him somehow?

"But- but you could settle in then and-"

"Booooring. I'm going out, tell the Watson's not to wait up!" He'd reached the bottom and turned his collar up to go outside.

"You can't take the car though, John says we're going to dinner, he invited us-" She was always chasing after him and now was no different. She ran down the stairs, just as Sherlock made it to the door.

"Not hungry, called a lift. Laters!" The door swung open-

"We'll be in town half past six if-"She tried again.

And slammed shut behind him.

"If you- if you change your mind." And she was alone.


	7. Chapter 7: We're going on a trip

**CHAPTER 7- We're going on a trip...**

**Sherlock's fingers were itching for a cigarette and his teeth were biting down hard enough to split his lip in two.** He made it out the door and up the street, his feet carrying him to the corner almost before he'd realized it. A car pulled up and stopped, the window dropping and a woman looking up at him from inside the vehicle.

"Your name?" He demanded. He could still feel Molly's body heat in his bones.

The driver, an ombre haired and pale waif of a woman smiled brightly. "Siobhan. I'm the lyft driver." While the professionally done colors of her hair went from indigo to various blue jewel tones, her pedicure was less cared for. One home done french manicured nail pointed at the square sticker in the corner of the windshield. "Are you Sherlock?"

Her name and license plate checked out. He slid into the backseat, shutting the door and looking upfront.

"Where to guv?" She chuckled, the turquoise ends of her hair shaking not seeming to mind his blank stare. "I don't actually talk like that, I just saw it on this American film the other night, thought I'd give it a try. Isn't it funny that a whole country could be so mixed up and generalize-"

"I need to get into town." He cut her off swiftly, fingers drumming on the door. Clenching and scraping, willing away the feel of a pathologist's soft hands and slim wrists.

"Righto!" The young woman put on her turn signal and they left the holiday home behind them. "Are you new to the area? I don't know your face. Are you here on business? Or pleasure? It's a good spot-"

"How long until we arrive at our destination?" Sherlock didn't know what was worse. The woman's constant chatter or the nerves still jumping around in his stomach.

"We can take a long way round, that way you'll see some of the sights if you like. I grew up here so-"

He tuned out her explanations and focused on the problem harassing his thoughts. How could he have been so- so _affected_ by _Molly? Molly Hooper?_

Since his illness, he'd done his best to avoid all thoughts of the pathologist. It had been relatively easy, seeing as he was preoccupied with being in the hospital and trying to escape each day. But that didn't mean she was entirely absent from his mind. His conversation with Mary Watson had seen to that. Even if they hadn't spoken, Molly herself would not let him be.

She'd been in with tea, newspapers, novels. On at least three separate occasions, breaks during her graveyard shifts had Molly curled in the chair in the corner of his room. Once, she had been too tired to make her way home and had fallen asleep in that same chair. She was unobtrusive, unassuming and plaguing his mind palace.

Now here they were, sharing living quarters with no viable options to avoid one another. Their jaunt up the stairs had been proof enough of that. When the warmth of her small palms pressed into his body, he felt exposed and on edge. Then her cheek pressed to the planes of his back and the soft curves of her aligned with-

"Are you capable of driving any faster or should I start jogging?!"Sherlock demanded. What he wouldn't give for a proper murder...

"Sorry, Mr. McGreary's flock got loose again. We'll be moving on in two shakes of a lamb's tail!" Siobhan snorted at her joke and patted out a little beat on the wheel. "Anyway, it's a good chance for you to take in the scenery. We've got some beautiful views around here. Especially out on the cliffs if you know where to walk." She nodded as though she were agreeing with herself and then sighed. "Course you have to watch your step, there were some nasty deaths awhile back. Really it's best to go with a tour guide."

"For the love of-" His tirade was cut off, eyes lighting up. "Deaths?" Just the thing to replace Miss Hooper with.

Siobhan nodded. "Yep. Three blokes and a lady fell from a couple of the cliffs over a weekend when there was a festival. Had one too many at the pub, that happens more often than naught." Finally, the car was able to stop idling and slowly they pushed past the flock, Sherlock wrinkling his nose at the smell while Siobhan waved at a man in a long overcoat and overalls. He waved back and continued to corral the animals. "The police put up a fence around the edges but they climbed over- sorry that's a rather macabre bit of history. Normally we're quite peaceful 'round here."

"So all in the past then." He murmured in disappointment, sagging back in his seat. Siobhan had been reaching for the radio, but paused and took another look back at him in the mirror, brown eyes narrowing.

"You're not one of them death groupies are yah?" She glared, cheerful demeanor slipping as quickly as those men no doubt had. "We don't need that. There's been enough trouble as it is what with the-" Siobhan broke off, eyes returning to the road and tossing her colorful coif nervously.

Ah. Here was something.

"The…?" He encouraged, folding his hands and smiling blankly. Unassuming.

"It's nothin." Her smile was sheepish. "Fact of it is, my Nan always said I talk too much for my own good. Most fares don't care for it either, sorry to be jabbing your ear off." No, no this wouldn't do. Siobhan, formerly so open was now attempting to hide something. And he wanted to know what it was.

_Set at ease, a generalized compliment. Use body language to display faux interest for her own to respond to._

"There's no need to apologize. I find all of this fascinating." He leaned forward, hand on the seat, intentionally dropping his voice. He'd noted the effect such a change tended to have on the opposite sex, at the very least it had always worked on Molly. Not that he cared what aroused Molly, not in the slightest. The look did not disappoint now and that was what mattered. She shifted in her seat, pink rising in her cheeks.

_Eye contact. Display sincerity to get her to open up by asking an open-ended personal question._

"You seem so knowledgable of the area." He continued, waiting for her eyes to meet his in the mirror. Raised his browns a fraction to show she'd impressed him. "How on earth did you learn all of this history?"

"Oh, it's nothing really. I grew up around here. I do the lyft job for extra cash but I guess I'm just a social butterfly." She smiled warmly. "What about you? You never said why you're here?"

_Garner sympathy to pose as non-threatening as possible._

"My health, I'm afraid." He smiled sadly. "I was very ill until recently. My doctor suggested a trip to the seaside. He believed it would be relaxing, but-" He chuckled, and coughed lightly. "Now who's sharing too much? I've been such a grumpy fare too-"

_Bait hook and dangle._

"No way! I talk too much, seriously. I didn't realize you weren't feeling well." She reassured him. What were you going to say about your doctor?"

_Make them feel as if they're doing you a favor_

He shrugged, smiling shyly. "I'm going up the wall! I'm supposed to be taking it easy, but to tell you the truth, I'm dying for a bit of excitement. Even just a good story to pass the time. That's why I was so interested in what you were going to say earlier after you talked about those poor people. I was SO glad to have something besides crosswords and the newspaper comics." The way her head was bobbing along, Sherlock knew it was done.

"Isn't that dreadful? It's miserable when you're sick but almost worse when you're still getting better, no one lets you do anything!" She rummaged in the cup holder and pulled out a wax paper wrapped candy. "Saltwater taffy?"

" I shouldn't-" He waved her off lightly, sharing a secret smile with his driver in the mirror.

"Oh yes, you should. Here, have another!" This time, he took both of the candies and popped one in his mouth, chewing along with the beaming young lady.

"Alright," Siobhan decided. "So long as you swear not to breathe a word of this to your doctor, I guess I can fill you in on a little of the local lore. Do you swear?" She asked, holding up one very solemn pinky finger. Sherlock held a finger to his lips.

"I am as silent as the grave." He promised.

" Alright. But I'm telling you, it's a sordid story. Creepy coincidences, a double murder, a _ghost_… and now some very strange going's on. " Siobhan warned. Sherlock pretended to shiver.

"All this in a holiday town by the seaside? I find that hard to believe." He even let his voice quaver for a fraction of a second. It really was too easy. How funny simple-minded humans were.

"Not the whole town. I mean, yeah." Siobhan shrugged, pushing her violet bangs out of her eyes. "There's stories and such. But there's one spot, in particular, that's been odd lately."

"Odd… as in haunted?" If she was referring to an old wive's tale of someone coming back from the grave he'd just wasted a good twenty minutes listening to-

"Odd as in burglaries, near-death accidents and-" She glanced around and her voice dropped to a whisper. " A _curse."_

Well. Burglaries and repeated near-deaths he could work with. It was better than getting sucked into endless games of bridge with the Watson's or continuously bumping into mind palace Moll- err. Some other pass the time nonsense.

"Where?"

"Are you up for a little adventure?" She looked back at him and they shared that same conspiratory smile again. "Or did you need anything particular in town?" She smiled widely, without any of the hesitations Molly had been showing earlier. Sherlock smiled back.

"An adventure is just what the doctor ordered."


	8. Chapter 8: Enter, Sherlock- stage left

_Hey, little Darcy's! I took a mini hiatus to get chapters built up so I can do regular updates for you all! With all the unknown in the world, I hope I can give you a reprieve, at least for a little while._

_Speaking to that, I know there's necessary social distancing going on just now. But for those of you feeling scared, or alone, know that you are not. Here, there are readers and writers still creating, still putting something out for the joy of it. Know you all in whatever country you are in, are in my prayers and thoughts. Take care of yourself. All my love - LizzieB_

**CHAPTER 8:**

"Just try and look inconspicuous, they don't much like gawkers. Not that I can blame them." Siobhan added, offering the paper cone. Sherlock helped himself to a handful of chips, eyes still on the shop across the street.

They'd parked in the alley between a brick flower shop and a knickknack store. It smelt of clay and too much lavender. Across from their vehicle was the business in question, a multi-colored stone dance studio with large front windows and a bright blue sign with "Waltz are you doing here?" in scrawling white script across it. On either side of the door were large planters of gorgeous flower bouquets in vibrant colors, and the sign hanging in the door's front window invited patrons to "swing on in!"

"Bit difficult to be inconspicuous when we're lurking in an alleyway here, don't you think?" He muttered back through his chewing.

"Nah, I always park here on my breaks." She took a sip from her bottle, perking up and smacking at his arm. "Oh! There she is!"

Sherlock scowled but didn't dwell on it long as the brunette woman they were waiting for propped the front door open with a rock evidently for that purpose and began to sweep up the storefront with a brown push lemon-yellow shirred dress flowed in ruffles around her calves, well-tailored but straightforward with the v-neck dipping down tastefully. Slender in build, she carried herself with elegant ease, limbs moving to a sort of natural rhythm as she swept. Even as her hips swayed, she repeatedly glanced behind her as though she were expecting someone to jump out at any moment.

"Tell me about her." Sherlocked demanded, eating another chip.

"That's Evelyn Beaumont, formerly Evelyn Ainsley. Her family actually owns a bunch of the land around here, but the dance studio is her own special project. Evie's been working on getting it up and running for ages, but she finally opened about a year ago." Siobhan explained, chest-puffing out a bit. "Everyone was shocked; she managed to do it, considering the curse."

"The curse?" He repeated. At Sherlock's dubious look, she nodded hard.

"I know, spooky, right? Everyone in town knew it would come back to bite her, but for a little while, it seemed like everything would work out." She sighed and they watched Evelyn sweep a bit more. "There were some accidents during the building, and those stopped. And things were going well enough after the place opened "So what changed?" He watched the woman hurry through her sweeping, holding up a hand when Siobhan tried to answer. "The question was rhetorical. Have these incidents caused only property damage, or have there been injuries?"

"It was most damaging to the shop. Something wrong with an electrical fixture that shorted out the studio and nearly fried Evie's husband." Siobhan ticked off on her fingers. "Then there was the hole in the floorboard, something had been laid improperly I guess, and her niece's ankle went through it. The poor girl was laid up for weeks. It mostly seemed to be Evie's bad luck, and then things started happening during classes. At least- at least that's what Evie said." Siobhan had been more than forthcoming their entire ride, and her pausing now only further piqued Sherlock's interest.

"You're not so sure."

"I- she's my friend, and I would support her through anything, but some of the accidents and things she's saying are occurring-" She bit her lip. "I don't know if she's just on pins and needles because the curse is in the back of her mind or-"

"You think the incidents are in her head." Sherlock finished for her.

"No! No, that's not it at all. I-" With a furtive glance at the gleaming windows of the studio, she leaned into the detective's space.

"I think someone is trying to make it SEEM like there's a curse going on." She whispered. He narrowed his eyes—Curioser and curiouser.

"Why should they do that?"

"I don't know, Evie is a sweetheart, and everybody loves her! It just seems to be a little too convenient, and she thinks so too." She gnawed nervously on the last chip. "There's a whole host of things that have happened, and we've got proof someone or someTHING is trying to set this up. Only we can't find a reason anyone would want to."

He leaned back, considering what he'd been told and badly wishing for a cigarette. The mystery had an obvious solution: Someone saw a gain in scaring the woman off her property—the why would most likely reveal the how and the who. Barely a three, he was sure once he saw the studio in person, he'd have things figured out before teatime.

"I want to talk to her." He announced.

"Oh good, I was hoping you'd say that!" She unlocked the doors, getting out in a hurry, and waving an arm for him to follow. He was out just as quickly and followed her across the street and to the door. Chimes jangled overhead as Siobhan pushed the door open, he slipped in just before it clanked in his face.

"Evie? Are you around here?" Siobhan called out, while Sherlock looked around, getting his bearings.

The large open space smelt of lemon-scented cleaner, a shiny brown leather couch, and two leather-backed chairs set up as a sitting area and the receptionist desk painted teal. It was a bright touch in a white room, that got it's colors from the framed paintings of dancers and different broadway productions on the walls. A floral centerpiece wafted sweet-smelling buds from the glass coffee table, and the studio owner came when called, smiling widely at the sight of her friend.

"Siobhan, I didn't know you were coming this morning! Finally going to take a class or two? We've got a singles night on Friday." Her mellow voice sang out. Siobhan shook her head, hugging the other woman.

"Evie, you've known me how long? Some people have two left feet, I've got three. I'd tear up your beautiful studio just walking in!" She joked.

"So you say, but if anyone could help you lose the extra limb, it's me." Evelyn replied confidently.

"I don't doubt it." Siobhan smiled and scooted over, gesturing for Sherlock to come forward.

"I've got someone I'd like for you to meet." Sherlock stepped forward, and Evelyn held out a hand, smiling pleasantly.

"Hello, I'm Evelyn Beaumont. Are you new to the area?"

He cast a suspicious eye at her offered hand. "Sherlock Holmes, I've been ill. Best not to encourage physical contact at the moment. Tell me, Evelyn Beaumont, what's occurred recently that's left you with a panic attack this morning?" She blinked, Siobhan, frowning, and putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Evie you didn't call, I would have come right away-"

"How did you know that?" The woman demanded, instead of answering her friend.

"Obvious when you know what to look for. Siobhan's told me you've been having some trouble; you mind if I take a look around?" He asked already on the move.

"Of course not but I really must insist on some answers-"

"He's here to help Evie. I know his methods are kinda weird and to be honest, he isn't a great conversationalist since he's so abrupt and all but I guess that's detectives for you-"

Sherlock, about to open the french doors to the studio, whirled on her.

"You said- why do you know that? How do you know that?" Siobhan didn't even have the decency to look guilty.

"Please, Mr. Holmes, you think I don't do checks on my fares? A girl has to make a living sure but that doesn't mean I let just anyone into my vehicle. And I checked you out plenty, I knew I heard that name from somewhere!" She grinned and nudged Evelyn. "This is a FAMOUS London detective, and he's solved a billion cases. If anyone can solve your curse, it's him."

Meanwhile, Sherlock was still gaping.

"You tricked me!" Siobhan grinned back unabashedly.

"And you fell for it. Now hop to it. Sniff out the clues or pull out a pipe and stand thoughtfully or something. Do you have a process? I read on Dr. Watson's blog you've got a process, so don't let us interrupt."

Both Evelyn and Sherlock stared at her, and Siobhan was unphased. Instead, she seemed annoyed more than anything.

"Come on, you two, it's not so difficult! Evie, you've got a mystery on your hands. Sherlock Holmes does nothing but solve them! Bring the two of you together and it's exactly how it should be: See a need and you fill it. That's all I'm doing. Now, Evie, you're going to explain to Mr. Holmes what's been going on and Mr. Homes you're going to solve the problem."

"I didn't ask for this Siobhan-"

"I'm not your plaything to command-"

"Look." She turned to Siobhan, earnest and squeezing her hand. "He's here; you might as well see what he can do. Right?" Evelyn hesitated but couldn't deny the young woman's eagerness to help. Siobhan glanced at Sherlock, putting her hands on her hips.

"And you said yourself, you've been sick, and you're bored." She pointed accusingly. "Remember? What better way to get back into things than a good mystery?"

There were plenty of arguments he could have made, though if he were frank, he was impressed with Siobhan's manipulations. What's more, John Watson would have a coronary if he found out Sherlock was getting himself mixed up in any of this.

Of course, that wasn't exactly a bad thing. Irritating Watson was a favorite past time of his, and laughter was the best medicine after all, wasn't it?

"I have some free time on my hands. You might as well share the details with me while I make observations." He decided, striding to the french doors and throwing them open.

"Does this mean you're on the case?" Siobhan called after him.

"Don't be a cliche, Siobhan." He called over his shoulder.

Then he smirked.

"And yes. Yes, it does."


	9. Chapter 9: Tell a tall tale

CHAPTER NINE

"Molls you're sure you want to be dropped off here? We don't mind walking around with you." Mary reminded her from the passenger window.

"I'm okay. Besides John, you should meet your staff. If you're going to be working with them for a few weeks you ought to get to know your clinic before you start." She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner and hitched her purse a little higher on her shoulder.

John frowned, still dubious. "If you want company, call. And I'm sure Sherlock is somewhere around here, the village can't be that big."

"Right, I will. See you at the Restaurant!" She waved as the car drove off, coughing slightly at the dust the wheels kicked up.

Though the eventual plan would be to pick souvenirs for people back home, for now, Molly was content to explore. Armed with a camera, comfy but cute wedges and a map they'd gotten at a nearby petrol station, she was ready to see what this holiday would have to offer. The stone-paved streets had puddles collected here and there from rain, she probably should have worn her wellies but that couldn't be helped.

Molly opened her map, studying the blue starred spots, highlighting the shops at each location. A pottery shop that specialized in sea glass was only the next street over. Wondering if they offered classes, she was on her way.

Half an hour later she was limping with a bloody elbow and forearm, the wedges in her bag and a pair of flats firmly on her feet. She should have known better than to try and look nice, she tripped up the stairs for heaven's sake.

Grumbling to herself, she looked around for a shop front. Surely someone would have a first aid kit so she could clean herself up? The nearest place was some kind of studio, judging from the puntastic name it was a place of dance. Even her foul mood couldn't help but brighten at the "swing on in!" sign. Molly decided she would do exactly that, maybe even take a class or two while she was here. It had to be better than trying to avoid Sherlock, right?

Sherlock surveyed the dance studio, the sight of the latest "act of the curse". For the most part, all appeared normal.

The doors were gleaming and the room smelt of lemon cleaner while the white wood floor beneath their feet shone with nary a scuff. How she'd managed it he wasn't sure, but Sherlock was mildly impressed all the same. One wall was floor to ceiling mirrors, an opposite wall had a ballet barre set up. There were two doors, one labeled a locker room for men and one for women, with a rack of dance costumes in between them. There were also a few hat boxes, full of different props to use in different choreography.

The space was entirely ordinary, save for the hole in the wall with plaster torn out and a shelf lying on the ground, nails sticking out of its board.

"This is the latest incident?" Sherlock nodded at it and Evie wrung her hands.

"It just came out of the wall one day. I don't understand it. We'd so recently installed that shelf; there's no way the nails should have worn down. Not to mention I secured the bolts myself, they were fine when I put everything up." She confirmed. He knelt beside the dust and picked up a screw.

"Tell me about your curse." He commanded, studying it intently.

Siobhan nodded reassuringly, and Evie took a seat in a fold out chair. "It's silly. Something from ages ago. My family has a long and rich history, but one that's not without its scandals." Her eyes took on a faraway look, and she absentmindedly pushed the hair back from her face.

"That's where the curse has its origin. My great great great great Uncle married a woman of excellent social standing. Her name was Isobel." Her eyes flicked to a portrait on the wall. It was of a statuesque woman with the same brown eyes and gold glinting from their depths as her own.

"This is she?" He looked up at the painting, rolling the screw between his fingers, frowning at the chalky dust it left behind.

"Yes. My great great great great Aunt. She was a beautiful and caring woman, who had unfortunately suffered a great deal before her marriage to my Uncle. Her first husband was lost at sea; her sister passed from malaria, her younger brother was killed his first time out in the army." Evelyn sighed.

"How she kept a smile on her face, I'll never know. Poor luck seemed to follow her everywhere she went. When she and my uncle married, however, it appeared they might be happy. Isobel quickly became pregnant with their first child, and shortly after the boy's birth, her niece came to live with them to help care for him." Evelyn bit her lip, fingers stroking the ornate golden frame, and looked at Sherlock. "The girl had been orphaned; she was the child of Isobel's sister who had passed from Malaria."

"Boring." He kicked the shelf and it clattered noisily across the floor.

"And so they took her in." Evelyn continued, ignorning him. "Amelia was Isobel's copy in every way, and they were often mistaken for sisters, in fact."

Sherlock rolled his fingers, annoyed, and insisting she move the story along.

"The curse, get to the curse."

"Right! So." Evelyn looked back up at the painting. "My family still believes, to this day, that it was Rupert's (that is, my uncle) intention to kill them both. He had begun an affair with a young lady who became jealous of the affection and lavish gifts he still bestowed upon his wife and ward. Accounts from the time make mention that she'd spent time in a sanatarium, though he would swear in court he did not know of this before the affair began. As it was, when Isobel became pregnant with their second child, he ended things. His mistress was also pregnant, and emotions got the better of her. The young lady went into a frenzy, striking him and charging him with all manner of things on hand intent on bashing his head in. Uncle Rupert fled from her lodgings at once."

Sherlock smirked, he'd dealt with enough cheating partners to know where this was heading.

"She left him?"

"He told her everything, and Isobel had him find lodgings elsewhere. It was all kept tranquil in those days you see, so he moved out without much pomp and circumstance. Somehow though, his paramour had discovered he'd left and hatched a plan to remove her competition. Posing as a neighbor wishing to congratulate Isobel on her pregnancy, she brought over a pie that she'd poisoned. If you remember, I mentioned how similar Amelia and Isobel looked to one another."

"Amelia was the one poisoned. Her aunt, in turn, cursed the Uncle's side of the family." Sherlock finished for her. Evelyn rose, touching the portrait and turned back to face Sherlock.

"Aunt Isobel was heartbroken. They say she never recovered from the loss and died when her children were still young." She sighed wearily and went to fetch a broom to sweep up. "It's an old story. But his bloodline has been cursed from that day on. Any land purchased with his money was found to be useless, one way or another. No crops would grow, or it became overrun with infestations. The home he purchased for the child he had with his mistress caught fire one night, and the boy was nearly killed. Uncle Rupert himself was killed in a freak lightning storm. Aunt Isobel had her holdings and properties, but Uncle Rupert's endeavors always went under, were destroyed or taken by the government."

Sherlock took all this in, only mildly interested in her tale and more so focused on the sawed-off ends of the screws.

"This property has ties to him in some way?"

"It's one of the last three remaining buildings." At this, Evelyn finally smiled. A fraction of her former joy seemed to return then as her chest puffed in pride. "There's the old family home, a summer home, and this building. It's changed hands through the years, but I decided it was time to stop living in fear. I wanted to do something good with it, wipe out the sordid history."

"She didn't tell you the eerie part. The curse is supposed to PROTECT the women and destroy the men. Isobel got cheated in so many ways, and it's said she cursed Rupert on her death bed and said he female lineage would no longer suffer cruel fates at the hands of men. If a man has mistreated his wife and she's one of Isobel's Descendents, the curse follows the pair until the wife divorces him or he turns tail and makes a run for it!" Siobhan added gleefully.

"You mean he doesn't need to be poisoned for it to be satisfied?" He replied dryly. Siobhan shrugged. "I dunno, I guess the curse isn't picky."

" A family curse that's merely a series of coincidences and drops in the economy has led you to believe an unseen force is trying to harm you or your husband?" He summarized.

"It's more than that-"

"So much more that you've told no one what's occurring, but you and your closest friend've jumped each time I've made a sudden noise?"Sherlock whirled on her. "You're harboring a suspicion that you don't want to give any credence to because you're emotionally compromised." He studied her face, the downturn of her eyes, and the ring she twisted on her left hand.

"It's not you that you're worried about, it's your husband. You believe the curse is real?" He frowned and squinted. "No, not that... Your husband has been behaving oddly, is that it? He's begun to be suspicious in some way that he wasn't before. That's why he's not here with you now when you're so obviously afraid. You've lost trust in him because of a recent event and now are at a loss."

"Stop it; make him stop!" She turned into Siobhan, who glared at the detective and held her in turn.

"Look, I didn't ask you here to rage against Evie, she needs help! Don't you have any feelings?" Siobhan snapped.

"My feelings are beside the point. Evelyn, if I'm going to help you, then I need all the facts." He held up the sawed off ends of the bolts, the reason the heavy shelf had toppled in the first place. "Judging by the ends of this shelf, I'd say time is not on our side. Someone did this intentionally, and from what Siobhan tells me, people are already getting hurt. I can't help if you decide to shy away from painful truths." There was a long pause as his words hung in the air, and for a moment, it seemed as though she would ask him to leave. Then Evelyn wiped her eyes and retook her seat.

"It's my husband, Oliver. He's not- something's not right. I think- I think he's cheating again." She burst into tears, right at the same time as the front door chimed overhead.

"Oh! It's a customer. I can't- if I answer the door like this then-"

"Hello? Is anyone here?" A voice Sherlock recognized called out.

"It's fine. WE'RE HERE MOLLY." He smiled at the women and then turned the same charming grin onto Molly as she came in.

"Hi, I- Sherlock? I didn't know you'd be-"

"Molly, you've been hurt who hurt you?" In the blink of an eye, he was at her side, cradling her small hands in his, studying the wounds intently. "Were you attacked? John should never have let you out on your-"

"Sherlock, I fell. It's alright. See?" She held up her broken shoe. "I just fell. I'm okay." She smiled back at him shyly. "Thanks for your concern though-"

"Perfect. If you just fell then, you'll be able to recover quickly. Siobhan, please assist Miss Hooper in cleaning herself up, Evie, tell me more of your cheating husband and spare no details. Molly, take notes. The game is afoot!"


	10. Chapter 10: A proposition

CHAPTER 10:

Despite her initial confusion, Molly was quickly caught up on the going's on. While she shot a few suspicious looks at Sherlock, the pathologist couldn't say she was surprised. They'd been here all of an hour or two, and he was already getting up to mischief. Still, she couldn't deny the entire story WAS fascinating. After all, it wasn't every day a place was cursed.

That being said, she still wasn't entirely sure what he was proposing was a good idea.

"You want us to pretend to be dance partners so we can spy on your husband?" Molly asked slowly, smiling gratefully at Siobhan as she brought her a cold pack.

"Well, actually Mr. Holmes here came up with the idea but in a word… yes." Evelyn confirmed.

"I don't know. Relationships work better on open communication-"

"Look, I don't want to rock the boat. We've just got things settled again, and we were doing well. Ollie's come to all the couple's therapy, we're living together again, and he's been so supportive while we've been working on the studio. His affair was a long while back, and I feel terrible about even thinking he could be up to something like that again but-"

"Most cheaters are serial, you know. It's not unlikely, in fact statistically once a partner has cheated they're- oof." Molly stomped on his instep, even while he worked to clean her scrapes. "What he means is, do you have a reason for thinking he might be stepping out on you?"

"Well… not exactly. It's just-" She glanced at Siobhan.

"I can leave if you want me to Evie." Her friend offered. She hesitated and nodded.

"I'll go put back the cold pack then. No hard feelings." Siobhan promised. Evelyn hugged her, and the other young woman hugged her back before taking Molly's cold pack and excusing herself.

"I didn't put any stock in this curse until things started happening. And they started to occur after I noticed Ollie has been paying a lot of attention to Isa."

"Isa?" Molly asked. She nodded.

"My niece. Isa's been staying with us, helping out so she can save up for a place closer to her school. She's in college." Evelyn explained.

"And your husband has been- preoccupied with her?" Molly offered. Evelyn sighed.

"Kind of you to put it that way. She was just a little girl when they first met; she's my older sister's daughter. But we hadn't seen her much in the last couple of years, not until we came to this area. She's a lovely girl, and there isn't a harsh bone in her body, but she's been acting strange and so has Ollie and I can't help but worry something is wrong between them. Maybe he isn't cheating, but something isn't right all the same." She insisted.

"Then we'll have to meet your husband under the guise of the dance class. Does Isa help out as well?" Sherlock asked.

"She's one of our instructors, part-time. She's just getting back into the class. One of the accidents hurt her ankle, so it's been healing. Mr. Holmes… I am not a suspicious woman by nature, but things are happening that I can't explain. I need your help." She admitted. Sherlock shrugged.

"It's not the first time someone's asked for my help, and it certainly won't be the last. Very well. Molly and I will devise a backstory and infiltrate the class. It's possible that if your husband has nothing to do with this so-called "curse," then someone else has a reason to come after you or your business. I'll need a list of the students and time of the classes; we'll also need a calendar, and I need a diary of your husband's movements so we can track him." Sherlock summarized, once again, looking at the fallen shelf.

"Were you near this when it happened?" He asked.

"Yes, I was trying to show Isa a step we would be teaching in class when the shelf fell."

"And your husband was nowhere near the area?"

Evie shook her head. "He was getting the front ready for the day."

"Mm. Well. Not to worry, Mrs. Beaumont, I'm sure I'll have your little curse dissolved within a day or two. Molly? " And nodding at their new client, he swept himself out the studio and through the front door.

"Is he always like this?" Evie asked., Molly shrugged apologetically.

"Pretty much. You get used to it. Sherlock's quite- well. You get used to him." She repeated.

"Right... well. To each her own. And he's quite the looker, lucky you, right?" She smiled at Molly, who blushed and hurried to follow the detective.

"No, he and I- that is, well- no, we're not- he's probably waiting, I should get going. We're going to have dinner tonight and then I think we can stop in tomorrow to get the information. We'll get it figured out, Evelyn, promise." And smiling as reassuringly as her hot pink cheeks would allow, she headed after Sherlock.

When she caught up to his stride, he was already on his phone, searching something out.

"What will you do now?" She asked, not sure where this was going.

"Exactly what I told her. I'll solve the case in a day or so, and then I'll find something else to occupy my time." He decided, grumbling when his phone took too long for his liking.

"John said you needed to rest. And you're short of breath right now." Molly reminded him, taking his arm. Searching for a bench, Molly didn't notice that he'd allowed her to keep ahold of him.

"Why did you tell her we could solve it?" She asked when they were seated, watching children play a game of jacks across the street.

"Because we can. This case is barely a three, someone is using Evelyn's fear and superstition against her, most likely the spouse." He sneered. "It's always the spouse."

"Well- that is, I agree. But- But I don't understand why you told Evelyn _we_ would do it."

Now he did look at her curiously and with his head tilted. "I... misstepped? Should I have asked you?"

"No, that's okay. Well, yes. Yes, you should have. It's only fair. This is my holiday too. Maybe I don't want to take a dance class." She reminded him, feeling slightly bolder. Something that wasn't easy given the way he appeared either incredibly confused or incredibly- something else?

"A point I had not considered. Molly Hooper. Would you like to solve a crime with me?"

It should have set her heart fluttering the way it did. The memory of his asking the same thing when she was engaged was still there, and really, it was nothing like the situation now, was it? Still.

"Yes." She answered primly. He grinned then, a smile she hadn't seen in some time. Something inside did another little pitter-pat.

"Excellent. We'll need a cover story if we're going to infiltrate successfully." He looked out at the children. "Have you anything in mind?"

"Hmm," She hummed thoughtfully, her earlier butterflies now taking a backseat to the excitement. Real undercover work! "I know how to dance, and you mentioned-" No, Molly, touchy topic, back tread. "If we both have experience dancing, then they'll probably notice that. Her husband, I mean."

"Can you use your clumsiness to pretend you have none?" He asked, not entirely unkindly. She glared but kicked her feet tidily.

"To be honest, I think my two left feet speak for themselves. I can dance on my own; it's different in front of a class." She reminded him. He sighed and nodded.

"So it is... but that could work in our favor. If we're trying to build your confidence, then it would make sense we're there. We'll need to have cover stories for our identity as well. While Siobhan recognized me, Evelyn did not. The town may be small enough that my escapades have reached no local ears."

"We could be brother and sister?" She offered. He made a face.

"Dull. Trite. Not to mention we display far too much chemistry for it not to have incestuous undertones."

"What?" Her head snapped up, but he was already on his way to his next decision.

"We will present as romantic partners. Our relationship is new, and therefore, we are searching for activities to do as a couple. Believable, it makes for a sympathetic character- No. No, we'll need to be in an established relationship, the husband wouldn't speak to me otherwise. Depending on his mood, then I'll start up a line of conversation to put us on even footing and from there dissect his excuses." Finally, he looked at Molly, who was still trying to wrap her head around his "cover story" example.

"You don't think that'll work?" He asked.

"I- well, I guess if he's cheated before you just have to figure out whichever one you think would work best? Maybe if we were- if it were a new relationship, then he would try to give advice?"

"What makes you think he wouldn't simply harp on the darker aspects of romance?" Sherlock asked.

"He's cheated, and he's gone into couple's counseling. Plus, they're trying to reconcile, that's what Evie said. She thinks they're getting back to normal." Molly took a long moment to consider her next words with care. "That tells me that either he's good at hiding what he's doing or he genuinely wants to make things work. So it would make sense if he wants to offer you advice, to avoid the troubles he's had. It's a natural reaction, people emote and put those feelings onto others, right?" She swung her feet on the bench again, watching the children play.

"You. Have more experience with hands-on emotions then myself." He muttered, doing the same. "So I'll defer to you. But I suspect John wouldn't approve, so perhaps it's best we don't tell him what we're doing. He's sure to misunderstand and bluster and overprotect, and there's no need for that since I intend to have this case open and shut in the matter of the next few days. So if it's alright with you, we won't discuss this with Watson's."

"Um... yeah, alright. Don't tell John and Mary." Molly nodded and Sherlock appeared satisfied.

"Excellent. And I appreciate your silence; I'll make certain to take my faux partner to a nice dinner out as thanks."

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"But, you agree we should be dating?"

She let out a little squeak of embarrassment but tried to collect herself. "Right, yes. We should. We should be dating."

"For the case to be resolved, it's only natural." He shrugged.

"Right, it's natural." Molly echoed. But she didn't miss the way his eyes never left the children or the red tinge just around his ears.

"So then, it's agreed."

"Yes."

"Very well." He turned to look at her, taking her small hand in his own. "I suppose we should make this official. Molly Hooper. Will you be my case-solving faux girlfriend?"

She couldn't help it. She smiled like an idiot.

"Yes."


	11. Chapter 11: Schedules

CHAPTER 11:

John Watson had been in the army, and his role was to be a medical doctor. He was to cure ailments and keep an eye on the men who came into his infirmary.

Sherlock Holmes, though not officially his patient, was his best friend and therefore fell under the flap of the infirmary tent, so to speak.

So when Molly came for dinner to the agreed-upon restaurant with Sherlock in tow, he didn't miss the high color in his cheeks, nor the glint in his best friend's eyes. It was something that almost immediately left him, wondering if he needed to do a urine test. Because there's no way, Sherlock could have found a case so quickly, here in this sleepy seaside town of all places. And there were no other times his expression took on that playful and self-satisfied glimmer-

"I have a case," Sherlock announced coming upon John and Mary.

"How was the clinic?" Molly asked alongside him.

"It was great. I think the team is really lovely, they even mentioned something about going for drinks after his first day.": Mary told her.

"You're not supposed to be working cases!"John was busy griping.

"Your table is ready." The **maître d** offered.

The foursome was escorted to a little table with a seaside view, where John waited exactly as long as it took to sit down before he was back on Sherlock again.

"The doctor was very clear in his orders. You were supposed to be-"

"You haven't even asked me the details of the situation yet John. I'm disappointed in you." He chided, offering to pull Molly's chair out. She smiled shyly and nodded her acceptance.

"Nothing you have to say is going to get you out of this Sherlock. I let you get away with a lot of things mate, but this is not one of them-"

"It includes Molly." He explained, somewhat defensively. She was perfectly fine with-"

"Molly he's supposed to be rest-"

"I am attempting to resolve the issue of human emotions and romantic connections, and Molly has kindly offered her assistance." Sherlock cut in before John could offer any more protests.

It was an effective means of ending the conversation, as John was silent, and Mary even seemed to be taken aback by his pronouncement.

"You're- what issue are we talking about here?" He looked between the pathologist and his friend. The former was blushing to the roots of her hair, and the latter was perusing the menu as though he didn't have a care in the world.

"Being romantically involved." Sherlock frowned. "Do they steam the mussels? I thought I saw cans outback, why wouldn't they use fresh?"

"Maybe they aren't in season," Mary answered, still watching Molly from the corner of her eye. "Sherlock, what do you mean by being involved? As in you two are an item now? Or-"

"You already did the play-acting with Janine, why should you do it now with Molly?" John sputtered.

"What's wrong with him doing it with me?" Molly demanded and just as quickly tried to barrel back. "What I mean is, we're friends. I'm someone he's comfortable with, so why shouldn't I help him?"

"But Janine-"

"Was one of my bridesmaids, let's not forget." Mary cut in crisply.

"Janine is lovely. A delight." John agreed. " But we know how that ended and-"

"Molly is different. We're beginning this with no misgivings. They have a class in town I was interested in, and the rate for a couple is far more favorable than going it alone. Besides that, I'd rather have Molly at my side then going it alone, dealing with desperate singles can be tiresome."

"Yeah, not something I miss," John muttered.

"I should hope not," Mary mumbled back.

"And I wanted to take the class, but I didn't want any creeps trying to chat me up, yeah? So it just made sense to sort of... work together." Molly added.

"Really. no ulterior motives here, Watson. You should be more trusting, I am your best friend." Sherlock, per usual, sounded very proud of the fact, enough so that John couldn't take it away from him by continuing the scolding.

"Right. Right just-" The doctor sighed, pulling up his menu. "Just careful? The both of you, hm?" He looked between the pair who nodded their agreement, good as gold. And while he didn't trust Sherlock farther than he could throw him at the moment, he believed Molly to keep them on a steady path.

"Right so if we're going to pretend we're a couple, then we're going to need to behave like one in front of our classmates. I propose we discuss and resolve what sort of public displays of affection are acceptable and prepare our back story." Sherlock announced that evening. He'd shown up at Molly's door just as she was curled up in bed watching something to fall asleep too, and while it wasn't the first time he'd seen the cherry pajamas she hadn't been trying to repeat the experience.

Now sitting cross-legged on her bed, she watched him pace the length of the room, trying to ignore how his button-down clung to the definition of his muscles and focus on what he was saying.

_It's for a case Molly pull yourself together._

"I think that's alright. I don't have to touch you too much I guess-"

"Why shouldn't you? I'm your significant other, touch should be well established." He strode over and took her hand in his, nodding in satisfaction.

"Like this, you see? If we're taking the class as a means to inspire something in our relationship, we will do less, and if we're a newer couple, we would do more."

"Maybe- Maybe this could be our first holiday away together? Then if one of us is nervous, that makes sense?" Molly offered, scarcely breathing.

" Our first holiday away together...: He nodded thoughtfully. "We're looking forward to a holiday by the seaside, and you asked if we might look into the class while we're here. If we're seen with the Watson's, we'll simply explain away any questions by stating we arrived as a group."

"That seems like it could work. I think it's a good idea." Molly agreed, still holding his hand.

"Of course, we're going to have to make sure our body language matches our words." Sherlock continued, fingers laced comfortably in her own.

"Body lan-" She scrambled back when he abruptly crowded into her space and he shook his head with a heavy sigh.

"If you're stiff and halting around me, anyone with negative designs on Evelyn's life is sure to see through it. Expressing affection is a normal part of any relationship; physical intimacy is something expected." He pressed on, releasing her. She rubbed the palm against her leg, trying hard to appear unbothered by the direction of the conversation.

"I understand, I'm sorry. It was just a- I was surprised." His eyes narrowed at her, and Molly suddenly felt exposed. "I can do better. I want to help Evelyn." She promised.

"Excellent, then you're not averse to arranging rehearsal time."

Molly stopped. "Rehearsal time? You want to _practice_?"

Sherlock shrugged. "You don't? If we want for our plan to go smoothly than we must prepare Miss Hooper."

"Right. Prepared." Why was she repeating everything he was saying, she sounded so stupid! .

"Yes. You have objections?" She hated the raised brow, the doubt she surely heard creeping into his tone. This was for a case, and Sherlock was her friend so she could do this! She just needed to pull it together and be professional, Evelyn was counting on them. Molly couldn't allow a girlish crush to get in the way of assisting that poor woman.

"Nope! No doubts here. In fact, let's start now." She rose, marched up to the man, and before she could lose her nerve, tugged him down to kiss his cheek. "You need some sleep, hun. I think you're looking rather tired, don't you?"

"Don't call me hun, it's ridiculous." Was Sherlock's reply, sitting on the bed and tugging her between his legs. "You're meant to be my lover, not a maternal figure. Try again." Was he testing her? Her resolve hardened. If this was some way to try and embarrass her, she wasn't going to fall for it.

"Honey, we've got work to do tomorrow, so you should go to bed." She kissed his other cheek, and his hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her in.

"Now you remind me of an old married woman. More natural, like you mean it." Oooh, he was pushing it now! She didn't miss that little gleam in his eye, the way his lips were beginning to tilt up. Determination gave her courage, and courage made her bold. One small hand cupped his cool cheek, thumb skimming over those gorgeous cheekbones.

"You can't work a case if you're exhausted." She reminded him softly. "Let your mind rest, and we'll get a fresh start tomorrow."

"Molly-" The croak of his voice only proved her point. With her eyes closed, she kissed the corner of his mouth but they flew open when his hand covered her own. His blue eyes had gone a shade or two darker, his attention left her breathless.

"Sherlock-" He was leaning into her-

"Sleep well, Molly Hooper." His lips pressed against her forehead, lingering all too briefly before she was released and Sherlock was heading for the door.

"Good- good night." She called out weakly. He didn't reply and as soon as the door closed behind him she buried her face in her pillow.

What the _hell_ had she agreed to?!


End file.
